‘Justin seems a good lad.’
‘He is. And you sorted out Edmund.’
‘No one will ever sort out Edmund.’
‘But you did more for him than I could have done.’
‘All I did was tell him he was getting no more money out of either of us.’
‘And found him his job at the Governor’s House.’
‘It is a chance for him,’ Mungo acknowledged. ‘As long as he’s prepared to buckle down and make something of it.’
‘Ultimately that is all we can do. Give him the chance and hope he takes it. Yet I wish he could get over his resentment of me.’
‘He doesn’t like your having been a convict.’
‘I don’t like it myself,’ she said. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it.’
‘And there is Mount Victoria, if you’re talking of miracles,’ Mungo said.
‘And there is Mount Victoria,’ she agreed. ‘It’s early days but it looks as though it may be even richer than Andrews thought. The mine manager is talking about a first dividend of one thousand per cent of the initial capital.’
‘And there was I worrying about the price of bread,’ Mungo said.
The light was beginning to fade, taking the warmth of the day with it. At forty-two degrees south it did not take long for temperatures to drop.
‘Perhaps we should think of going in,’ Mungo said.
‘Yes,’ Cat said but for a moment did not move. ‘Do you ever regret the old days?’ she asked.
Mungo watched the sea for a minute before answering. ‘It was right for us and right for the time,’ he said. ‘But it wouldn’t suit either of us now.’
‘We are too old,’ Cat said.
‘I prefer to say mature,’ Mungo said.
They smiled at each other and went into the house together.
The magic years rolled on.
Sarah made a radiant bride. It was never going to be the wedding of the year but watching her Cat remembered her own, the carriage bowling down the road beside the river with people waving and her waving back with smiling face and bleeding heart. She had been so lucky. Despite everything her marriage had been good, rich with tenderness and sharing, and now here she was watching her beloved daughter walking down the aisle on Mungo’s arm.
Cat Haggard and Mungo Jackson reunited, she thought. Something she would never have believed possible, a relationship with kindness as well as passion at its core, the years of separation as though they had never been.
Sarah moved to Launceston with her husband. In 1888 she gave birth to a son whom they called Edward.
My dear life, Cat thought. I sometimes think I’ve hardly begun to live and here I am a grandmother twice over.
Philip was growing up to be a lovely, energetic boy, even though there were times when Cat was afraid that in his four-year-old exuberance he might knock the place down.
Over the years Mrs Amos’s attitude to Philip had changed. Now she smiled tolerantly. ‘Plenty of go in him, I’ll say that,’ she told Cat. ‘I like a boy to have a bit of go in him.’ They listened to him pounding and shrieking through the house. ‘Good pair of lungs, too,’ Mrs Amos said. ‘Of course, you can have too much of a good thing, I daresay.’
‘I believe you are right,’ Cat said.
Even Edmund had seemingly settled down to his job at the Governor’s House although the same tensions still existed, unexpressed but undeniable, between him and his mother.
‘Give him time,’ Mungo said.
It was not a question of time. She knew his resentment of her would never change. It made her heart sore but she could do nothing about it. Heaven knew she had enough to occupy her thoughts without that because on top of all her other interests there was now the new mine at Mount Victoria to keep her busy.
Then, in 1889, Edmund astonished them all by announcing that he was getting married. Cat thought it excellent news.
‘It could be the making of him,’ she said to Mungo.
‘Let’s hope so.’
Mungo was sceptical and proved right. Cat had taken to Sarah’s husband but the same could not be said of Edmund’s bride for Laura Fitzroy proved to be a lady who went through life in gloves, unsoiled by the joys and earthiness that for Cat gave the world its savour.
‘She won’t think much of her mother-in-law’s background,’ Cat prophesied.
So it proved. Cat tried to welcome her into the family but Laura, who had been a Streibel and claimed connection with the Bavarian aristocracy, made it plain she felt demeaned by being related through marriage to an old convict woman. Unlike the Streibels the old convict woman was rich, which helped, but Laura still preferred to pretend she knew nothing of Cat’s beginnings.
‘She thinks I am beneath her,’ Cat told Mungo.
‘To hell with her,’ Mungo said.
Amen to that. But in 1890, to everyone else’s surprise – how could such a fastidious woman have had anything to do with the messy realities of sex? – Laura gave birth to a daughter.
One again Cat had hopes but Myrtle proved a disappointment, being so like her mother that Cat foresaw she would grow up to be identical with the woman whom she had given up trying to like.
SIXTY-EIGHT
On Monday 3 August 1891, a cold and blustery day, the magic years came to an abrupt and catastrophic end.
Cat Mortimer was working in her office when she was alerted by the sound of a slammed door and raised voices. Rigwood opened the office door and poked a nervous nose into the room.
He and his wife had taken over the running of Cat’s Kingdom at the beginning of the year when Mr Moffatt and Mrs Amos had retired. To Cat’s delight Mrs Amos had finally agreed to change her name to Moffatt and the old couple had gone to live with his niece at New Norfolk. The Rigwoods were competent and amiable people, he somewhat overawed by his employer’s fame, his wife less so, but there were days when Cat missed her old friends.
‘Excuse me, ma’am…’
Cat put down her pen. ‘What is it?’
‘Mr Edmund is here and would like a word with you.’
‘Then show him in.’
Before Rigwood could move Edmund had shoved him aside and buffaloed his way into the room. As so often, Edmund had no time to waste on even the most basic courtesies.
‘Have you heard?’ Eyes wild, hair all over the place.
‘My dear… Sit down. Take a deep breath. Have I heard what?’
He did not sit down. ‘The bank, the Old Bank, whatever you want to call it…’
‘The Bank of Van Diemen’s Land,’ Cat said. ‘What about it?’
‘It’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘Gone to the devil. Closed its doors.’
Cat stared. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I am saying the Van Diemen’s Land Bank has collapsed and taken all its depositors’ money with it.’
‘But how can that be? On Saturday the shares were being quoted at six pounds on the Exchange.’
‘And today you couldn’t give them away.’ Edmund ran frantic hands through his hair. ‘Every last penny I had,’ he said. He looked as though he might cry.
‘At least you have a job.’ And a wife who likes to live well.
Cat’s brain was racing. She had some funds deposited in the bank but the implications of the collapse, if that was what it was, were far more serious. The Mount Victoria consortium of which she was a significant member had used the bank to deposit the stakeholders’ contributions from which the development was to have been funded. If, as seemed likely, those funds were lost it would set the development back for years. It would have a severe impact on the economy of the colony, already hovering on the edge of depression after the forced sale of the Tasmanian Steam Navigation Company earlier in the year. There must have been a run on the bank, she thought. That could be the only explanation.
‘It’s worse than that,’ Edmund said.
She stared at him. ‘In what way can it be worse?’
/> ‘I’ve been buying shares on credit.’ At least he had the grace to look ashamed.
‘How much?’ Cat said.
‘Just under a thousand pounds.’ Barely more than a whisper.
The shock made Cat sit up in her chair. ‘A thousand pounds?’
Edmund made a helpless gesture. ‘I thought…’
You thought you’d make some easy money. Somehow she managed not to say it. What was the point? What mattered now was picking up the pieces. Which might be easier said than done.
She always kept some cash reserves handy. She opened the drawer of her desk. Ten notes of fifty pounds each. Five hundred pounds in notes issued by the Bank of Van Diemen’s Land. Paper.
Everyone in the state would be affected, directly or otherwise. This was worse than serious; if panic spread to the other banks it would be catastrophic. She had to get hold of Mungo as soon as possible. And Ambrose Wallace, of the Hobart Savings Bank, of which, thanks to the Married Women’s Property Act, she was now a director in her own name.
‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘Luckily most of my funds are not affected. I shall take care of what you owe. We can talk about how you repay me later. In the meantime this is what I want you to do.’
She told him.
‘You understand?’
He looked confused. No wonder, she thought. From affluence to bankruptcy and now to hope, all within an hour or two. It would be enough to confuse the strongest, of whom – alas! – Edmund had never been one. But Cat could not afford the luxury of confusion. She had to act decisively and at once.
‘Repeat what I just told you.’
She was afraid he might resent her treating him like a child but now was not the time to worry about that.
He did what she asked.
‘Very good. Send the message and then go to work. And remember: there is bound to be talk about this. Let no one at the Governor’s House know you’re involved.’
He nodded mechanically but shock was still written on his face. She took his hand. ‘We shall beat this.’ She gave him her most brilliant smile. ‘I shall take care of everything and it will be all right.’
She watched as he left the room. Pray God, she thought.
Lucky there was a telephone exchange in Hobart. A pity the lines did not as yet extend either to Cat’s Kingdom or Jackson’s Landing – even her wealth had been unable to buy that – but a call could be made to Kingston and a message hand delivered to Mungo in a fraction of the time it would have taken in the old days. With any luck he would be with her by luncheon but she could not wait; she must act now. No time to get the carriage out; she saddled Fire and ten minutes later was galloping down the road.
A light rain was falling as she rode up the driveway to the Governor’s House. Below her the river was a grey presence between the trees: a colour suited to her mood. A servant took Fire’s bridle and Cat was admitted at once. There was no delay in seeing the governor; it was all very different from the days of Sir Reginald Apsley-Smythe as Sir Henry Duggan – thank God! – was a much more approachable man, with a good head for business. He was also a man willing to discuss the situation with a woman, at least when the woman was Catherine Mortimer.
Sir Henry was accompanied by Hillard Grey, his principal Treasury adviser. The three of them talked and Cat saw at once that they agreed where the principal danger lay.
‘Contagion is the main problem,’ Sir Henry said.
‘The risk that one failure may lead to others?’
‘We must ensure that does not happen.’ His eyes were eagle-sharp over his eagle-sharp nose. ‘I should welcome your thinking about that, Mrs Mortimer.’
Catherine had been thinking about nothing else on her helterskelter ride here.
‘It’s the banks, principally,’ she said. ‘People scared for their deposits will want to take them out and who can blame them? But that could prove fatal.’
‘How do we prevent that?’
‘Your Excellency, if the government let it be known that it would guarantee bank deposits –’
‘Out of the question,’ said Hillard Grey. ‘The government has insufficient funds for that kind of operation.’
‘The point is, Your Excellency,’ Cat said, ‘if the government did issue such an assurance there would be no need for people to take their money out.’
‘And therefore no need for the government to pay anything,’ Sir Henry said.
‘What about the mining developments on the west coast?’ Grey asked. ‘My understanding is that many of those have their funds with the Van Diemen’s Land Bank.’
‘That is so.’
‘Including the Mount Victoria mine, in which I hear you have a personal interest.’
Hillard Grey was an official with a keen nose for fraud, real or imagined.
Cat gave him a look. ‘Mount Victoria is indeed involved with the Van Diemen’s Land Bank. Any significant losses might delay the development but would not stop it in the longer term. As for myself, I should naturally be disappointed to lose money through the bank’s failure but I remain committed to the development and do not expect the government to reimburse me for a normal commercial hazard.’
Hillard Grey looked down his nose more than ever but said nothing. Cat turned to the governor.
‘Your Excellency, if there is some question about my probity…’
‘Nothing of the sort, Mrs Mortimer. But how would you suggest the mining operations be handled?’
‘I don’t think the government should intervene at all. Some of the smaller ventures may fail for lack of capital but for the most part I think the larger operations are well funded. I see no risk to the industry as a whole.’
‘That is good to know.’
‘But I do think on the matter of the bank deposits the government should move at once. I mean today, Your Excellency. Any delay could have most serious consequences, not only to the other banks but to the economy as a whole.’ She took a deep breath and threw in what she hoped would be a sufficient inducement to win her argument for her. ‘All the colonies and indeed London will be heartened by decisive action here in Tasmania.’ She permitted herself a modest flutter of her eyelashes. ‘If I may be permitted to make such an observation to Your Excellency. Who will of course handle the matter in whatever way he sees fit.’
Cat stood in the great reception room and looked about her. A servant had told her that Mungo had arrived and would be with her directly. She was pleased with the way the meeting had gone. Sir Henry Duggan was as smart as a whip; Hillard Grey was a stuffed shirt but no fool. She thought there was an excellent chance they would issue the guarantee she had suggested. That would take much of the heat out of the situation. People would still lose money – that couldn’t be helped – but panic was the enemy. The failure of the Van Diemen’s Land Bank would set mining developments back for a while but the market would recover. The ore was there; in time it would be extracted. In fact the downturn might offer opportunity; some of the weaker members of the consortium might want out; if that were so she might be able to pick up their holdings at a bargain price.
She looked around the room she remembered so well. It was a beautiful house and she had been happy here. Those years had been a highpoint in her life and she would always be glad of them but would not trade them for what she had now. She was a fulfilled and happy woman and who could ask more of life than that?
Mungo came. He looked grave. ‘A bad business.’
‘I think we may have managed to avert the worst of it.’
They had a late lunch at Wilkins Chophouse.
‘I’ve never been here before,’ she said.
‘A woman on her own?’ Mungo said. ‘I should hope not.’
‘Yes, milord,’ Cat said.
They ate heartily while she told him of her meeting with the governor.
‘You didn’t waste much time.’
‘As soon as Edmund told me the news I knew speed was essential.’
‘Have you lost much?’
/>
‘Hardly anything. None of the Mount Haggard funds are affected. And you?’
‘Nothing so far. Most of my funds are overseas or in Melbourne. I would say we’ve been very lucky.’
‘The story of our life,’ she said.
They finished their meal. They went back to Cat’s Kingdom. They made passionate love.
‘Not bad for two old souls,’ Cat said.
‘Life in the old dog yet,’ said Mungo smugly.
‘A dog?’ Cat said. ‘I’ve heard of that but I’d better prefer it was a man.’
‘Any man in particular?’
‘Any port in a storm,’ she said.
In 1892 Mungo gave Philip a cricket bat for his tenth birthday. Cricket was all the rage after Australia had beaten England two matches to one in March and it seemed Philip had a good eye for a ball.
Philip had started at his boarding school at the beginning of the year and Cat somehow found the time to go with Mungo to watch Philip play for his junior school team.
‘Looks as though he could be quite good when he gets older,’ Mungo said.
Cat didn’t know one end of a bat from the other and was ignorant of the rules, too, but was cautious of asking questions about what she saw was a male ritual of almost religious intensity.
She enjoyed herself, all the same. It was a social occasion and festive with a congregation of the ostrich-feathered hats that in ladies’ fashions had taken over from the crinoline skirts of earlier years.
Mrs Sinclair, formerly Talbot, was there with her new husband. The two women squeezed out a chilly nod to each other, icicles forming in the summer air.
‘He doesn’t look very new to me,’ Mungo murmured.
‘I heard he’s seventy-three,’ Cat said.
‘But rich.’
‘Very.’
Although they weren’t too badly off themselves.
Cat cast a critical eye over Mrs Sinclair’s figure. ‘She’s even more buxom than I am.’
‘You are not buxom,’ Mungo said. ‘You are a fine figure of a woman. And who could want more than that?’
‘I wouldn’t mind having a lot less than that. And what about Mrs Sinclair?’
The Governor's House Page 41